


Another Year of Immortality

by Bitter_Baristas



Series: Spideypool Oneshots [9]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Birthday, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Cat Ears, Child Abuse, Collars, Daddy Kink, Experimental Style, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, GET IT, M/M, Male Slash, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Postpartum Depression, References to Depression, Roleplay, Tags May Change, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, cat costume, happy ending wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-17 00:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14176545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitter_Baristas/pseuds/Bitter_Baristas
Summary: Peter seems content to lie there, close enough to hear his heartbeat.Wade would normally relish moments like this, but right now he can only think about how one day Peter won’t be there to hug him like this. That one day, a day that creeps stealthily closer, Peter will die.It could be as Spider-Man, cut down in his prime. It could be when Peter is old and has had to retire super-heroing. He might be resigned to a wheelchair, the parts of his body once so strong gradually failing.





	1. Angst

Wade Wilson is born into a world of white illuminated by fluorescent lights. His mother is crying and screaming, blonde hair darkened with sweat and matted to her forehead. A doctor cuts the umbilical cord because Thomas Wilson is not present for his son's birth. A nurse whisks the wailing newborn away to be cleaned and swathed in a blanket.

After Hailey Wilson has passed the afterbirth she is handed the strange, squishy thing she doesn’t recognize as her baby. Not yet. It’s pink and fleshy and _crying_ so loudly. Why isn’t Thomas here? He _promised_ he’d be here.

Hadn’t he?

“It’s an alien,” she says absentmindedly, exhaustion and drugs making her mind hazy. The doctor and nurse share a glance and the nurse gently takes Wade, telling Hailey she should sleep.

Sleep she does. After Wade is born, that’s almost all she does.

Her husband is deployed and she has to go home in a blizzard to an empty house. She isn’t a Canadian native, she doesn’t like the endless white abstraction of snow. It had been a novelty at first, but years of harsh winters leeched at her awed wonder.

Things would have been better if her own mother were here to tell her that, yes, newborns look weird and it’s okay to think that. It’s okay if she doesn’t--and during her pregnancy had not--felt a connection to the creature growing inside her. The first kick, like a cricket skittering across her belly, had brought dread instead of elation.

How is she supposed to raise a child? She’s twenty-four and still feels like a child herself. Twenty-four and stuck in a foreign country so different from her own.

She and Thomas met on the beaches of Australia, her home and his vacation destination. When the waves swept her and her surfboard under, it seemed like fate. She knew the waters like her hometown, there was no reason for her head to smack on the rock that lay buried in the sand. Yet it did, and Thomas swam out to save her.

Brown hair that would grey far too soon was the first thing she noticed. The second was his eyes, blue and filled with concern.

Hailey fell for the stranger hard and fast. They dated one month and he asked her to move back to Canada with him. Her mother glared at her and told her if she left, she would not be welcome to return. Things always had been life and death with her mother. God may have been forgiving of a lost lamb, but her mother certainly wasn’t.

She left. Because home was stifling and she was young and stupid and in love.

They married in a church devoid of her family. They exchanged vows and Hailey added an extra, silent one. That her marriage would be less turbulent than her parents. That she would not drive her husband away with uncompromising and prejudicial morals the way her mother had.

Young, new love faded like it always does.

Her savior became her tormentor. He left not marks on her body, but cracks upon her fragile mind.

Years passed. Jobs came and went for Hailey. Now she has a _baby_. How is she supposed to take care of a baby when she doesn’t even take care of herself? Thomas pays the bills. Thomas calls once a day to make sure she’s eaten. Thomas is the one who bothers to buy her new clothes when hers are threadbare.

He does these things and reminds her of the boy she met on the beach. Then he starts yelling, punching holes into plaster walls. He comes home drunk and smelling of sex.

She doesn't care about the infidelity. It’s not as if _she_ wants to sleep with him. Let some other girl fall for his charming good looks and silver tongue.

She supposes she always figured there was the gun Thomas kept locked in his study, if things became unbearable. Whether she planned to use it on him or herself was something she never decided on.

But now there’s this little human dependent on her. Suicide/homicide isn’t an option, not when little Wade pulls at _something_ in her heart.

Wade Winston Wilson, that’s the name she gave her _baby_. Because Thomas's disapproval couldn’t beat Hailey’s love of alliteration. Having the child had been _his_ idea, anyway. She never wanted kids, but Thomas said “if you abort that baby I will divorce you, Hailey Wilson”. Well, she had no money and no family left to help her, so she said “I’m picking the name.”

And if she picked a name to spite Thomas, no one could blame her.

So here she is, alone in a house while Thomas is off wherever the military had sent him. He told her where, of course, but she had been seven months pregnant and _oh so angry_ at the time. She demanded to know if he was going to leave her alone to birth a child, and he scoffed. Told her the hospital staff would be with her.

That’s the exact moment she decides Wade’s middle name will be Winston. Before the ink is dry on the birth certificate, she feels triumph swell inside her.

Hailey thinks about calling her brother, who never approved of Thomas, but remembers for the umpeenth time she doesn’t have his number. The last time she saw him had to have been at their mother's funeral, four years ago.

Their mother had been a plain and humorless Christian woman, the lines of a frown pinched permanently into her round face. She believed God was the cure to any illness and only changed her mind when she was diagnosed with cancer. Hailey’s brother was with her through every treatment and hospital stay while his heathen of a sister was in another country.

At the funeral he embraced her stiffly, without warmth.

If she did enough digging she could probably scrounge up a number that would reach him. She knew the company where he worked. She could call there, ask for his personal number or ask to speak to him right then.

He would pick up the phone, say hello. She would open her mouth and all her mistakes would pour out with pleas for forgiveness. He’d be silent for an agonizing moment, and then he would assure her everything is going to be okay. He’ll come save her from this wreck of a marriage and tell Hailey that her son is beautiful.

But the possibilities on the other end of the spectrum are too terrifying to chance. He might answer and be furious with her, shout into the receiver, say he hates her and never wants to see her again.

What would she do then? Would she live out the dark fantasy that’s been lingering in the fog of her unsound mind since finding out she was pregnant? Would she fill the tub with tepid water and _hold Wade under_?

No. No, she wouldn’t do that. Hailey comes back to herself, hears Wade crying in his crib. She is alone in her house--not her home--and Wade needs her to be there for him. She goes to the bathroom before going to the nursery, eyes the orange bottle of pills the doctor gave her for postpartum depression. Taking antidepressants is something her mother had forbade her entire adolescence. But, Hailey thinks, Mom isn’t here.

She swallows a chalky pill and nurses Wade. She burps him over her shoulder, changes his diaper and watches him as he falls asleep. His little head is covered in pale blonde hair and he has Thomas’ eyes.

Wade Winston Wilson. Her baby boy. Not an alien, not a creature of unknown origins.

Wade Winston Wilson; her son.

* * *

Hailey loves her son. It takes six weeks on antidepressants to make her certain of this. Thomas is better with Wade in the house. He doesn’t drink as much, and the wafts of other womens perfume on his clothes is a thing of the past. He loves Wade. Thomas always wanted a son to raise into a fine young man.

He has Wade’s future planned out. He’ll make the honor roll in school, play on the hockey team. He’ll graduate top of his class and join the Royal Canadian Air Force.

Things are better.

Hailey’s days of rotting in bed, drowning in wine, are less frequent and Wade is a perfect baby. He laughs and coos and makes her feel love in a way she’s never felt before. It’s all consuming. She would love this child no matter what.

Things are good.

She gets the diagnosis. Cancer, stage three. Everything that can be done is done. It isn’t enough.

“If we’d caught in sooner we could have done something.” That’s what the apologetic doctor with sorrowful eyes says, a warm hand on her shoulder. His sad eyes purposefully avoid the oblivious four year old in her lap.

The doctor had advised Wade go play, leave the room, but Hailey couldn’t bare to let him out of her arms. She regrets the decision when she starts sobbing uncontrollably.

Thomas has never been good with emotions. He’s either stoic or angry. When they get the news, he’s livid. How could she leave him with a child? A child, she thinks with bitter satisfaction, that he insisted on having.

Wade is too young to know what’s going on. He’s aware that they stay at the hospital longer than usual and that mommy doesn’t go home with them. He likes time with mommy. They snuggle on her bed and watch cartoons. She holds him close, runs her fingers through his hair and kisses the top of his head.

She reads him all his favorite books. Sometimes she makes her ugly crying face and he has to tell her he loves her, because that always makes her happy.

One day, mommy and daddy cry together. He doesn’t understand why he has to wait outside.

Hailey passes on a Tuesday, late in the afternoon. It’s sunny outside, cracks of sunlight melting the snow she despised so much.

Before she goes, she tearfully tells Wade she loves him more than anything. That she’ll always love him, forever and forever. He’s her baby boy and always will be.

When Wade grows up, there will be no pictures of her in the house and he won’t be able to remember her face.

* * *

Wade is nothing like Thomas had wanted. The teachers call him every week it seems, tell him his son is in trouble _again_. The school psychiatrist throws out the words “your son has mental issues”, suggests therapy. The future Thomas had planned for Wade vanishes.

The son he’d had such high hopes for is suddenly nothing but a burden. A burden that a kind neighbor volunteers to babysit. She’s the leader of a scout troop, and Thomas is pleased to let her keep Wade for as long as she likes. Spending time with a taskmaster is just what Wade needs, he thinks.

Wade becomes withdrawn and quiet. It’s a blessing, Thomas thinks, that she managed to teach the rowdy boy some manners.

The woman leaves town suddenly one day, fleeing accusations Thomas pays no heed. A woman molesting children--ridiculous. Parents these days can’t handle it if someone looks at their kid wrong.

Not Thomas. He’s hard on Wade to toughen him up. It works.

And then it backfires.

Wade grows into a rebellious teenager and gets beaten with a leather belt when he disobeys his father. Home is loveless and ruthless and smells of gin. Wade turns into a thug.

Things escalate and Wade can’t control them. Thomas is always drunk and angry, but tonight is worse. He’s screaming and his fists hit Wade’s body unforgivingly.

Wade sees red and then darkness. There’s a loud sound, like a gunshot, and just like that Thomas is dead.

He has nowhere to go. He joins the military and leaves if before he’s even left his teen years.

* * *

 

His birth certificate has four important pieces of information on it. Wade’s name, the names of two dead parents, and the date. February first; his birthday.

For a long time he doesn’t bother celebrating the day, save for drowning his feelings in an expensive bottle of Bacardi. He can’t die, what’s another year gone by?

But these last few years are different. These last few years he’s had Peter to celebrate with. His baby boy is genuinely happy he was born, that he’s alive. The last three birthdays have been made wonderful because his Petey-pie was there, but as the first begins to draw near something occurs to him.

This will mark another year of being with his baby boy. That’s another year closer to the inevitable disintegration of their relationship or, best case scenario, they live out the rest of Peter’s life together.

For him, this is just one more year into immortality. Peter is in his early twenties, he’s got another ninety years in him, max. Although Wade has been turning over the idea of blood transfusions to keep his baby boy kicking. He’s not a scientist or a doctor, but he’s read comic books. Although he thinks transfusing his blood into Peter while the boy is asleep definitely crosses some boundaries. If Lady Death doesn’t get back to him on making a deal with Thanos he’ll have to bring up the blood idea to Peter.

And if both those things fail he’s fucked.

Life without Peter isn’t life at all.

That’s the _best case_ scenario (if he can’t figure out a way to die or prolong Peter’s life). There’s still a chance Peter will realize he’s too good for Wade and leave him for someone better.

What had been tentative excitement turns to terror. He’s had twice as many birthdays as Peter, and this is one more. Peter has told him many times that the age gap between them is meaningless, but he can’t stop the fear crawling up from within him.

The fear that Peter is wasting his life with him. That he’d be so much happier with someone else, someone closer to his own age--

“Stop that.”

Wade blinks. “What?”

Peter’s unamused gaze swings to him from the glowing laptop screen that holds his school work.

“You’re thinking bad thoughts.” He says matter-of-factly.

“I am?” Peter nods, looking back to the article he’s reading.

“Yep,” Thin lips close around the end of a pen and Peter scans another paragraph. He scribbles something down. “Is it about your birthday?”

Curse Peter. Curse him for his ability to read minds. Spider’s can’t do that. It isn’t fair Peter can.

“No.” Wade denies.

“Don’t lie to me, young man.” Peter warns, fixing a glare on Wade.

“‘M not young,” he whines, flopping out on the living room floor. “I’m _old_.”

Peter snorts, reads another paragraph, and stands to stretch. He offers Wade a hand, smiling that gentle smile.

“Come on, old man. Let me help you up.”

Wade grumbles as Peter easily pulls him to his feet. “Want to take a nap with me before patrol?”

“Hell yeah!”

“I mean a real nap.”

“Oh… I guess I still will.”

Peter laughs and drags Wade to their bedroom, pushes him onto the mattress. His baby boy cuddles up to him happily. Peter’s lissome body fits against his much broader one like a puzzle piece clicking into place. His arm wraps around Peter, and Peter’s arm and leg curl over his chest and thighs. The boy’s head rests on Wade’s shoulder. Wade isn’t exactly cushy, and he wonders if his hard muscles are comfortable to lay on.

Peter seems content to lie there, close enough to hear his heartbeat.

Wade would normally relish moments like this, but right now he can only think about how one day Peter won’t be there to hug him like this. That one day, a day that creeps stealthily closer, Peter will die.

It could be as Spider-Man, cut down in his prime. It could be when Peter is old and has had to retire super-heroing. He might be resigned to a wheelchair, the parts of his body once so strong gradually failing.

When they hold hands, Wade’s hand will be scarred, and Peter’s will be withered and dotted with age-spots, paper thin and showing the blue-green veins beneath. What will Wade do when that time comes? When Peter takes his hands in his and says in a voice so different from the one Wade knows now, that he doesn’t have much time? What will he do when, inevitably, Peter gives him _one last kiss_?

A strained noise sneaks up his throat, isn’t caught by his clenched jaw.

“What’s up?” Peter props himself up on an elbow. “Are the boxes loud?”

“No,” Wade logically knows telling Peter his fears will allow the boy to help him, or at least try. But it’s so hard to truly open up, even after all the time they’ve been together. “I… it’s just…” He forces himself to meet Peter’s eyes. “I’m another year older.”

Peter nods slowly, waiting for him to continue. “And on your birthday, _you’ll_ be another year older.”

“Two for two on facts.” Peter quips.

“You’re going to die!” Wade shouts. “Time is going by faster than a fucking bullet train and each year you get older is a year closer to me being alone again.”

His chest rises and falls with shaky breathes. In a rush of motion he’d sat up and now he’s hunched into himself, clutching at his head, eyes squeezed shut. He curls into himself, swallows whimpers.

He’s spiralling down into the self-loathing that was once a daily occurance. It’s an event that has become less frequent with Peter there to hush his boxes and quell his insecurities, but he’s had a lifetime of trauma and his broken mind will never fully mend. Even given infinite time.

He worried the first time he broke down in front of Peter the boy would realize what a basketcase he really was and leave, but he didn’t. Peter was not deterred by his past or by his mental instability.

Peter shifts onto his knees and covers Wade’s body with his, hugs him tightly. Holds him together as he falls apart.

“We’ll figure something out, Wade. We will.” He promises, voice cracking and heavy. Wade appreciates the assurance, but he’s not convinced.

Peter moves them so he’s sitting cross legged, Wade’s torso in his lap. They sit in silence for a long time, Peter kissing Wade’s face and head with quick, sweet pecks. Wade cracks, lets the sounds and tears escape.

Peter tucks Wade’s head under his chin and hums, rocking them. Wade feels Peter’s chest expand with a deep breath and he starts to… sing.

“I love you a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck. A hug around the neck and a barrel and a heap, a barrel and a heap and I'm talkin' in my sleep, about you.” He sucks in a breath and continues. “‘Cause I love you a bushel and a peck, you bet your purdy neck I do.” He warbles the wordless parts. “You make my heart a wreck, make my heart a wreck and you make my life a mess. Make my life a mess, yes a mess of happiness.”

He inhales another breath, drawing back. Wade twists and looks up at Peter in wonder, who blesses him with a grin.

“You… can sing?”

“I serenade you in the shower all the time.” Peter reminds.

“But… that was _good_.”

Peter’s nose wrinkles, “gee, thanks.”

Wade pounces on him, aggressively cuddling him. Peter chuckles, rubs his back. The heavy atmosphere lightened, Peter says, “I got your present.”

Wade perks up. “What is it? Can I have it? Is it a puppy? No! A helicopter? No! A wig? Did you get me a Thor wig?”

The other man laughs, shakes his head. “No, but you’ll love it. I promise.”

Wade believes him.

* * *

Peter buries his face in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan. Wade’s birthday is in two weeks and he has yet to find a gift. And now Wade is excited because Peter told him he had a great present for him. Him and his big mouth.

He has Wade’s actual birthday planned out, he’s not that bad a boyfriend, but now he needs to find something Wade will love. Really, it’s not hard to make Wade happy. When they first started dating Peter got him little trinkets all the time because it made the man’s face absolutely _light up_.

But Peter’s not good with special occasions. This year it’s especially important to make Wade’s birthday a good one.

They’ve been together for three years and while Wade’s self-confidence has gotten significantly better, he still silently believes that their relationship is a passing fancy for Peter. It’s frustrating and heartbreaking. Peter understands why Wade thinks the way he does, he truly does. Before him, almost everyone else in Wade’s life left him.

Even when he was a child stability was not a thing Wade was privileged to have. Peter knows this because Wade had tentatively told him after an early morning nightmare.

They sit on the kitchen floor, Wade’s head on Peter’s shoulder and Peter’s hand rubbing along his back.

The information comes in snippets that he strings together.

“I used to have blonde hair, Petey-pie,” Wade said once, voice taking a far away and wistful tone. “I wasn’t good for much, but god was I pretty. Now I’m just… ugly and useless.”

Peter can sense the storm brewing in his lover and acts quickly. He makes a disapproving sound, forces Wade to look him in the eye. He hates the wetness shining in those grey-blue eyes.

“Do _not_ talk about my boyfriend that way.” He growls, because Wade always listens when he uses his dark voice. “My boyfriend is the handsomest, sexiest beast to ever handsome and sex.” He takes Wade’s hands in his, kisses the knuckles. “I love Wade Wilson, and I won’t listen you you _slander_ him.”

Wade tries to pull away halfheartedly, protesting. Peter doesn’t let him.

They fall into a lull of silence that Wade eventually breaks.

“I tracked down pictures of my parents, a few years ago.”

Peter holds his breath. Wade has only briefly mentioned anything about his parents. He’s spoken about how terrible his childhood was, but he almost never brings up his parents.

“My mom had blonde hair. I have my dads eyes.” Wade leans back, head resting on their cheap wood cabinets. “The picture was taken in Australia. I guess mom was an aussie. They looked so happy, Petey. She was glowing and dad was smiling. In all the time I lived in that house, I never saw my old man smile. Not once.” Wade’s eyes close and he sighs.

“I… tracked down my mom’s doctor. He remembered her right away. I asked about her kid,” Wade smirks, “he was hesitant but with a gun to your head, there are no secrets. He told me… he told he that she loved me. That everytime they had an appointment she had me with her. She’d read to me, draw with me...”

Nights like those are a rarity. Wade hasn’t been so forthcoming since, but Peter has gathered other bits and pieces of information.

His father beat him with a belt, he stayed with a neighbor lady who fled town suddenly one night for reasons Wade didn’t mention. Peter learns most of Wade’s sexual abuse not from Wade, but from Steve Rodgers. He tells him about a woman named Typhoid and refuses to tell Peter the details that would erase the horrible vagueness Peter can’t stand.

“He’ll open up in time. I just wanted you to be aware, Spider-Man.” He gave Peter the trademark Captain America smile and Peter can definitely see why Wade looks up to Steve.

His mother died, his father abused him, he was raped. It makes sense why Wade has virtually no concept of self-worth. Peter _knows_ why Wade thinks their relationship will come to an awful end. Which is why he needs to make Wade feel irreplaceable.

He just needs to think of how to do that.

An idea pops into Peter’s head and he sits up, his chair scraping on the polished floor of Stark Towers. A quick glance around the room confirms his supervisor isn’t around and he whips out his phone. Fingers fly across the screen and in moments a message is on it’s way to MJ.

The woman will surely know what will be the perfect end to the day he has planned for Wade.

He jerks when his phone buzzes in his pocket an hour later.

_You, me, mall._ Her message reads.

Peter grins.

 

* * *

“Why do you smell like coffee?”

MJ shrugs, “new job. Starsucks.”

Peter eyes the obviously _not_ Starbucks coffee cup in MJ’s hand. She holds up a finger and chugs the drink, wiping her mouth with her arm. “I work for the man, I don’t buy his shitty coffee.”

“Why the grudge? I like Starbucks.”

MJ doesn’t miss a beat, “that’s because you have no taste.” She drops the styrofoam cup in a trash bin, spinning on her heels to face him. “So, did you have any ideas?”

Peter ducks his head bashfully, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You were my best idea.”

She rolls her eyes, a grin that makes him uneasy twisting her lips. The woman tugs him by his sleeve to a store he’s never entered. An adult boutique.

“Your boy’s a freak, what _haven’t_ you guys done?”

“Uh…” It isn’t that Peter doesn’t want to share the details of his sex life with MJ, but… no. He doesn’t want to share the details of his sex life with MJ.

“Scratch, that. I don’t need to know.” MJ shudders. “I’ll rephrase. What does he want to do, that you guys haven’t? Blood play, airplay, balloons, watersports? Furries? Naughty nurse?”

Heat rises to Peter’s face and before he can reply MJ drags him into the dimly lit store.

He leaves with a heavy bagful of items.


	2. Slash

February first comes quickly.

Peter knows Wade has mixed feelings about his birthday and is going to do everything in his power to make the day a good experience. He wants Wade to know he loves him, more than anything, and that his life would be bereft of joy if the mercenary wasn’t in it.

They sleep in until noon and when their stomachs are grumbling they get ready to head to Wade’s favorite diner. Peter wears a shirt he got special for today. A _Deadpool_ shirt.

Wade’s jaw drops comically, because while he wears beaten jeans Peter has gotten dressed up for his boyfriend. He usually doesn’t care to put any effort into his appearance on his days off, but today is special so he’s shimmied into the skinny jeans that make Wade drool.

Peter kneels and reaches under the bed, Wade’s stare on his backside so intense he feels something akin to his spider senses tingling. His fingers brush against what he’s searching for and he retrieves two packages.

“This is just one of your presents,” he explains, handing a box to Wade, who eagerly tears into it.

He stares, stunned, at what’s inside. Peter gnaws on the inside of his cheek. Wade looks up, his lower lip quivering.

He drops the box and lunges forward, yanking Peter into a hug.

“I fucking love them!” He cries, too loudly near Peter’s ear but he doesn’t care.

Wade sits heavily on the bed and shoves his feet into Spider-Man Vans. “I can’t believe you got my size!” He swings his feet happily, admiring the shoes. Peter beams and opens the second box.

“I saw these, too.” He says, pulling out Deadpool Vans for himself. “I gotta wear my boy’s merch, right?”

Wade gasps, hands clapping to his cheeks dramatically.

“Are you my fanboy?”

Peter rolls his eyes, can’t suppress a smile.

They walk to the diner, holding hands and drawing a few stares. At this point Peter’s not sure if it’s because of Wade’s scars or the fact they’re an unashamed same-sex couple, or today it might be because they’re both decked out in superhero apparel.

He feels Wade tense minutely. In the past Wade might have pulled a baseball cap down over his face, hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets to make himself smaller. There was a time the stares directed at him felt like fire crawling up his skin. Hell, there was a time Wade refused to even go out in civilian clothes. When they first started dating he’d wear pants and hoodies or his Deadpool suit in the heat of summer to hide his skin.

It took months of reassurance and cajoling to get Wade to start wearing normal clothes. Months of hammering home the fact that Wade wasn’t ugly. Different, but still so beautiful.

A memory flits through his mind, a day about a month into when they started dating. It was their first real fight. Wade was having one of his bad days. Peter has told him he thought Wade was handsome, but instead of making him feel better it made things worse.

“Don’t lie!” Wade had yelled, and Peter jumped. “I’m ugly inside and out! And the sooner you realize that the better!” He’d crossed his arms, almost hugging himself. It broke Peter’s heart. “I’m no good, not good enough for you that’s for sure.” Wade had said, the words bitter and stinging.

It was the same argument they’d rehashed multiple times.

Wade’s improved self-esteem since then is something Peter is proud of. _Wade_ is someone he’s proud of.

Peter slips his hand out of Wade’s grasp and into his back pocket, knocks his head on Wade’s shoulder.

“I’d stare, too, if I saw someone as handsome as you.”

“Yeah?” Wade looks ahead, unable to hide the pleased tone that leaks into his voice.

“For sure,” Peter squeezes Wade’s supple ass and grins when the other man gives a yelp of surprise.

They continue on, unperturbed by any glances that linger a little too long.

After eating Peter hails a taxi and tells the driver the address before letting Wade get in.

“Where are we going?” Wade bounces in his seat.

“It’s a surprise, babe.” As they draw nearer to their destination Peter makes Wade cover his eyes. He helps the man out of the car and guides him to a fenced off area, nodding to the woman he’d worked this out with the previous week. “Okay, you can look.”

Wade does and is greeted with the sight of a petting zoo usually rented for kids parties. But today, for the afternoon, it’s rented specially for Wade.

Ignoring the easily identifiable gate, Wade leaps over the fence to approach a very fluffy baby llama. Peter enters through the gate and offers Wade a baggie of animal feed. They spend an hour cooing over baby animals and Wade is grinning ear to ear when they leave.

They take another taxi to their next stop, which is a florist shop near their apartment. Peter ducks into the store and returns with a bouquet of red roses mixed with ones dyed black.

“They’re your colors,” Peter says, unable to get out more before Wade tackles him in another hug.

“You’re the sweetest sweetie to ever sweet!” He cries, nuzzling his cheek into Peter’s hair. Peter exhales the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

The sun is high in the sky as they walk home. MJ and Ned are delivering Wade’s cake to the apartment at six, which gave Peter plenty of time to give Wade his birthday gift.

“Wash your hands and change into something comfy.” Peter instructs before disappearing into the bathroom to wash the animal grime off his own hands and get dressed.

This gift is one he hopes is going to satisfy a fantasy.

He’s tried on this costume before, practiced his mannerisms in the bathroom alone and been fine, but now that it’s show time he’s got the jitters. He knows that, realistically, Wade will be thrilled no matter what he does for him. That thought should be a comfort, yet it isn’t. It makes him more anxious to do well, so he’ll believe Wade when the man tells him he had a great birthday.

Peter sighs and fiddles with the cat ears that fit snugly on his head. He smooths a hand down the black, leather-like material of his sleeveless leotard. The outfit is meant for a woman, the bust cut low to show off the swell of breasts. Instead it hugs the flatness of his chest and the narrow, sharp points of his hips. He’d had to buy a small just to make sure it was skin tight. It was a good thing MJ forced him to try the costume on before buying it.

He’d considered getting stiletto boots to go with the outfit, but ultimately opted for thigh-high fishnet stockings with no shoes. The image he was aiming for wasn’t dominatrix; although he knows Wade would have enjoyed that, too.

The cat ears atop his head are furry and semi-realistic, matching the fingerless paw gloves on his hands. The piece de resistance is the black leather collar around his neck, a gold colored medallion engraved with the words “Wade’s property” hanging from the accessory.

Peter pauses with his hand on the doorknob and then pushes forward. It’s now or never, he tells himself.

He leans against the bedroom door frame, arching his spine.

“Daddy?” He asks, sugar-sweet tone just a bit huskier than normal. He slinks onto the bed. “Meow.”

Wade stares at him, eyes wide. Peter bats his lashes, whines low in his throat. He settles between Wade’s legs, feels the man’s erection coming to life against his stomach. Peter’s head tilts to one side and he smiles as brightly as he can. “Happy birthday, Daddy.”

“ _Me-wow_ , baby boy.” Wade can’t resist making a pun, even when he is so obviously entranced by Peter’s outfit.

Peter slips his fingers under the faded blue fabric of Wade’s favorite Spider-Man T-shirt, skimming his fingertips over the hardness of muscle. As he scrapes his nails down the V-shaped path of Wade’s obliques the man tenses, his thighs pressed against Peter hugging him just a bit tighter. Peter leans forward and pulls the shirt off in one smooth motion, Wade arms rising automatically to aid him.

He traces Wade’s sides with feather light touches, stopping at his lower stomach and pressing his thumbs into the flesh. He searches Wade’s face for a reaction and sees closed eyes, lips slightly parted around quickening breathes.

Peter slides down and nuzzles his face against Wade’s crotch, smells the heady musk through the fabric. Wade’s scent is pungent, sweat and gunpowder and the moisturizing lavender shower gel he uses to keep his scarred flesh from cracking painfully. It’s intoxicating, and if Peter lets himself he’ll get drunk off the smell that he can taste in the back of his throat.

The stretch and weight of Wade’s arousal in his mouth is always a comfort when he’s in his subspace. It would be easy to sink into that role right now, but Peter is working to keep himself aware of his surroundings. He can’t allow Wade’s babbling praise to carry him on a tide out to sea, where he would surely drown in the pleasure. This is about submerging Wade in an all-consuming pleasure, flooding his senses with the declaration of love Peter pours into every action.

Sex, normal sex, lasts a short time. Minimal foreplay, release, a trip to the bathroom and then sleep. Drawing it out takes a teasing touch. Pushing your partner to the edge without toppling them down the cliffside. Peter plans to keep Wade on edge, to build his orgasm up so it will burn through any persisting uncertainties and leave him boneless.

He mouths Wade’s bulge.

“Anything for Daddy.” Peter answers. “ _Whatever_ Daddy wants.”

Wade’s brain short circuits and he is momentarily speechless. Peter slithers up to kiss him. “I could dance for you,” Peter offers. “Would you like that, Daddy?”

Wade nods dumbly and Peter hops up, beckoning Wade with a crooked finger. Wade jumps to sit at the edge of the bed, legs spread wide to accommodate him. This too is something Peter practiced.

He rubs his hands down Wade’s chest to his steely thighs and pulls away, turning to lean down slowly, fingers trailing along his legs as he sticks his ass out. He rights himself slowly and sinks down again, swinging his hips. He tosses a glance over his shoulder to see Wade is transfixed.

He straddles Wade’s lap and writhes down on him, brushing his clothed erection and pulling away as Wade thrusts up.

“Hands at your side, Daddy.” Peter reminds, catching Wade’s earlobe in his teeth.

“Fuck,” Wade hisses. Peter sits up on his knees and presses Wade’s face to his bared chest, hears the man inhale his scent.

The dance only lasts a few minutes, but by the end of it there’s a tent in Wade’s pants. Peter finally lowers himself onto Wade’s lap and draws him in for a heated kiss.

“What do you want me to do, Daddy?” He makes his voice dip and take a breathy tone. Wanton, needy. He’ll take whatever Daddy gives him and return so much more.

“On your knees,” Wade rumbles, like an avalanche coming over Peter. Rattling his bones.

His eyelids flutter as he complies, slipping just a little bit farther down into the special place that only Wade can put him in.

* * *

Peter looks like heaven on his knees, peering up at Wade, waiting. Sunlight filters in through their sheer curtains, shining on Peter’s hair. Brown locks have grown long, and Wade knows if he combs his fingers through them he’ll find no snars. Peter’s hair is something he prizes, although he won’t admit it. Peter, when they first met, had not cared about his hair nearly so much. Wade wonders if the reason for Peter’s high maintenance of the tresses is because he knows Wade adores his hair.

Loves to pet it and grip it.

Peter does it for him. Grows his hair long because Wade can’t grow hair of his own.

A rush of affection overcomes Wade and he threads his fingers through that hair, mindful of the headband, and uses a gentle tug to pull Peter up.

The man rises higher on his knees, looks up at Wade with reverence while he looks down with appreciation.

Wade kisses him. Peter tastes like summer days and happiness and the banana pancakes he ate at breakfast. He tastes like forgiveness.

There is so much Wade has done in his life that is unforgivable, or at least only forgivable by the people he wronged (who are dead), and yet Peter washes all these sins away. Hands with the power to scale walls lift to twine around Wade’s neck, rest there as if it’s where they belong. Peter looks like he belongs where he is, on his knees between Wade’s legs, on the carpet they rarely vacuum. Dark lashes lay on his tan cheek and his lips stay parted after Wade withdraws.

But on the floor, submissive, is not where Peter belongs. Peter belongs beside him, no, Wade mentally corrects, above him. Peter belongs on a pedestal, adored and worshiped. This is where his baby boy refuses to be. He leaps from the marble column and lands gracefully beside Wade, in the muck and filth that stains him. He’s the tether that keeps Peter’s altruism from making him ascend to something--someone--better.

He’s the only sin Peter is guilty of, the only thing that keeps wings from sprouting from those too-sharp shoulder blades.

Thinking this is something that would anger Peter, something he’d ruthlessly correct. Flowery romance, he’d scold. He’d remind Wade of his every flaw, and he’d be right.

It wouldn’t change Wade’s mind.

He is the rope that leashes Peter to the earth, but one day he won’t be enough to keep Peter at his side.

One day death will call Peter’s name.

Wade pushes these thoughts from his mind, clings to the warmth of sunshine entering through the window, the smoothness of Peter’s skin against his calloused hands.

Equals, Peter reminds him early on in their relationship. We’re equals.

They aren’t. Peter is so much better than he is. There is so much goodness in him. Wade was once afraid of the light he’s always admired. Afraid it would shine on his ugly parts and scare Peter away.

Shine it did. Peter stayed. Saw his skin and heard his boxes bickering. Peter stayed. Through days when Wade was too depressed to get out of bed, Peter stayed.

“Daddy?”

Wade hums, feels his forehead pressed to Peter’s and Peter’s questioning gaze.

“I love you,” he says. It’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

Peter rises further still, not to leave him but to embrace him. Wade wraps Peter’s deceivingly fragile body in his larger one, pulls him onto the bed and lays him out beneath him.

“Daddy,” Peter sounds unsure, because his plan had been to give and give, not to receive. Wade laughs to himself. Giving Peter pleasure was the best way to find his own.

“Hush,” he chides. “Daddy is going to take care of you, baby boy.”

Peter hesitates a beat and then nods, eyelids lowering. Whatever Daddy wants. And if Daddy wants him to sink into his subspace, he will.

“Good boy,” Wade’s voice is dark and warm, lapping over him.

Peter whimpers, opens his eyes sluggishly. “Daddy,” he says, and it’s a plea.

“You look so good for Daddy.” Wade’s fingers trail along Peter’s ribs and sweep down to his hips. “My little kitty cat.” He takes a moment to appreciate Peter’s gift for him, eyes the collar. “The best present, I’m going to unwrap you.”

Peter rolls onto his stomach, revealing the suits zipper. Wade drags it down slowly, tooth by tooth. Peter’s arms stretch over his head, his spine arching. He pushes his butt up. Wade gets him out of the outfit, uncovering a sight that makes his cock throb.

His baby boy’s ass is clad in lacy panties with intricately criss crossing straps that serve no functional purpose. They’re purely aesthetic. They’re for Wade. He kneads Peter’s fleshy bottom, the cheeks left beautifully displayed. Peter moans, presses back into the touch.

“Daddy,” he whines.

“What is it, baby boy?” Wade pulls his pants down, cock bobbing as it’s freed of the confines. He slides it into the cleft of Peter’s ass, teasing, and leans down to Peter’s ear. “Tell Daddy what you want.”

Peter is a flushed mess and it seems to take all his effort to articulate his needs. “Your mouth,”

Wade pulls the panties off, because while they are pretty they’re only getting in the way of something prettier. He rubs precome into Peter’s hole, feels it squeeze tightly closed at the threatening invasion. “Where?”

The sound Peter makes is strangled, torn. “My cock,” he manages.

“Good boy,” Wade says, knowing full well it makes Peter’s insides flutter.

He flips his lover over and swallows him down effortlessly. Peter cries out beautifully. Wade sucks him furiously, licks the length and kisses the dribbling head before taking him into his throat again.

Peter is holding back, he knows. Unsure if he’s supposed to wait or relent. “Come for me, baby boy.” Wade pauses just long enough to give this order and is again on Peter’s arousal, licking and sucking. Peter hunches forward, hands scrambling on the back of Wade’s head for purchase as his orgasm rips through him.

He falls back, limp.

“Good boy,” Wade smiles. Peter shudders.

“Daddy,” Peter murmurs, “can I suck you?”

Wade hums thoughtfully, as if he would deny that honey sweet voice. “Okay, baby boy.”

He maneuvers them so he’s on his back and Peter is on top of him, backwards. Peter’s calves hug his sides and Peter’s breath ghosts on his erection. He kitten licks the slit, tasting precome before lightly suckling the head. Peter takes him halfway down, hollows his cheeks and sucks. He bobs his head, taking more of Wade each time he descends. Peter’s throat spasms around him and Wade groans, grinding in deep into the heat.

Peter is much better at giving blow jobs now. And Wade is a well endowed man. His baby boy had been a gagger, red faced and choking on his cock when he first decided he wanted to blow him. Now he can take all of Wade in his throat, sucking and licking him.

Peter’s rhythm is broken when a tongue prods at his hole.

Wade grins wickedly at Peter’s muffled squeak. He nips the pink hole, works his middle finger into it. He continues lazily until Peter’s body is shaking above him and moans are vibrating around his cock.

“Shh,” he soothes. “I’ve got you, baby boy.”

Peter whines, and he can picture the tears wetting his baby boy’s eyes. Peter almost always cries when he’s in his subspace, because it’s one of the few times he feels comfortable crying. Spider-Man doesn’t cry, Peter Parker hates crying. But when Daddy is taking care of him, it’s easier to let the tears escape.

Wade prefers these tears, ones from pleasure and not from sadness.

He moves out from under Peter to grab a bottle of lube and sits with his legs crossed loosely, man handling Peter onto his lap. As he’d assumed, Peter’s face is flushed and there are trails of tears glistening on his cheeks. His mouth hangs open and his eyes are half lidded, unfocused.

The man is drunk on pleasure, his higher cognitive functions put on the backburner. Wade slicks himself and eases into Peter.

His baby can take much more, but he lifts Peter slowly and lets gravity pull him down. He thrusts up into the heat that envelopes him perfectly. Peter quivers in his arms, hips twitching involuntarily. Wade thumbs circles into the joints of Peter’s jaw, because while he’s too far gone to feel the ache in his jaw now, he’ll certainly notice it once he comes down from his endorphin high.

Wade rocks into Peter’s prostate slowly, a lovely and torturous friction that _isn’t enough_. Peter’s legs, wrapped around Wade’s hips, tighten. Laughing under his breath, Wade’s hands go to Peter’s ass and lift him up before slamming him down.

Peter keens.

The pace is slower than they usually go, and it allows Wade to feel Peter clench and unclench around him. Trying to draw him in.

Wade pulls Peter down as he thrusts up, grinding deep as he comes. Not pulling out, he works Peter’s cock in his hand, making him come for a second time. Peter collapses on his chest.

He lays back, Peter making no move to dismount him.

They doze for a few minutes, and Peter stirring is what makes Wade open his eyes.

“Happy birthday,” Peter says, pulling off Wade’s softening cock. He flops down beside him. Where he belongs. Where he wants to be.

“Best birthday ever,” Wade confirms, sighing contently.

“You say that every year.”

He grins impishly, “you make every birthday the best ever.”

Peter snorts. “Your cake is coming at six. Want to go again in the shower?”

“Is that even a question?”

Peter laughs, a silvery sound. “Come on then, old man.” He wiggles his butt invitingly as he walks to the bathroom.

Wade runs after him, scoops him into his arms. “I’ll show you, darn kids.”

They’ll figure out the rest of their lives another day.

Maybe in twenty years they'll both retire their suits and move away from the throbbing rot and corruption of New York. In twenty years they'll decide not to share themselves with the rest of the world anymore. It will be their time to be selfish, to devote themselves wholly to one another and to the two children Wade imagines them having. A boy and a girl. They'll raise them somewhere safer and quieter than Queens. Maybe a coastal town, Oregon or Maine. A place where the breeze smells of salt and gulls cry overhead. Or maybe a place in the country, where trees take the place of skyscrapers and deer wander into the yard. They'll love their children like Wade should have been loved when he was young. They'll read them stories, tuck them in at night. Peter can help them with their homework while Wade cooks dinner. It will be the life Wade didn't know he wanted until he met Peter. 

Today they live in the moment. The rest of their lives will come faster than Wade wants them too, but as Peter promised, they'll figure things out together. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a two-parter!  
> Next chapter, the smutty tags come into play!  
> Bussel and a peck, Doris Day :)


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